Lean On Me
by tbazzsnow
Summary: Everyone worries about Simon, after his defeat of the Humdrum, but who is worrying about Baz? Penelope Bunce. A one shot taking place post canon, in the midst of the inquiry into the Mage's death,at a time when Simon is most definitely struggling, to the concern of those around him. Penny spends most of her time worrying about but finds a way to look after Baz also.


**Penelope**

Today's not been a good day. We were at the inquiry for hours and Simon's been a jittery mess since. The sofa's currently vibrating from the way his leg's bouncing, and he's chewing at his fingernails again. He's going to make them bleed if he doesn't stop.

That's going to be a problem.

We both had to answer questions today. I thought I could keep them from harping on Simon, I really did. I was the one who used the spell, after all. I didn't know what Simon was going to say, I didn't realize the Mage was such a _colossal_ _prick_ that there was nothing that could stop him from continuing to hurt Simon.

It's not like we haven't been through this before. The facts aren't going to change.

I suppose they didn't originally intend to grill us quite that hard, but it felt particularly harsh today. Dr. Wellbelove made them stop at one point, when Simon was stammering and sweating and I swear if he still had magic he'd have blown the roof off the place. I kept waiting for his edges to blur, for that red tinge and to smell the smoke of him.

It never came, of course, and it made me feel a bit sick to know it never will again.

My dad thinks there's a chance, a chance the magic might creep back to the surface again—not as powerful as it was (it could never be like _that _again, thank Merlin)—but he thinks that the holes will fill up too. And Simon has kind of a magic shaped hole in him now, doesn't he?

I mean, _I know_ the Humdrum was the Simon shaped hole in the fabric of magic, but that doesn't mean Simon can't function like the holes too. I don't think Simon's Normal. I think it's rubbish when people assume he is, just because magicians don't give up their children.

I assumed it once myself, but I know Simon better now. I don't think anyone non-magical could have ever held so much power. I think Simon's parents must have been Mages—one of them at least—but something happened.

Something bad. Something so bad that they couldn't keep him, couldn't tell anyone.

Maybe they tried to leave the World of Mages, like my mum's friend Lucy. Left their wands behind and disappeared into the Normal world.

A motor vehicle accident. A robbery gone bad. A vampire attack. Goblins. Something they couldn't fix or escape or heal without magic.

Or maybe it was simpler than that. A liaison with a Normal. An unexpected pregnancy. Magical power that skipped a generation.

I don't know.

I've come up with all sorts of scenarios in my head, but none of them manage to ring true. I can't explain why I'm sure Simon was never really Normal. I just know it, deep inside.

It was Baz's father who finally made them stop for good today. He's there every time, sitting next to Dr. Wellbelove, all cool and collected. Can't ever tell what he's thinking. He's so like Baz, putting on that inscrutable mask all the time.

He let it fall today, though. Merlin, I thought he was going to flay that man questioning us with his eyes. Malcolm Grimm stood up right in the middle of the interrogation, when Simon was practically incoherent, and barked "That's quite enough, Reginald. This is an inquiry, not a trial. Let the boy have some peace and be done for the day."

I don't think even Reginald had it in him to argue, not with the glares he was getting from Mr. Grimm. Dr. Wellbelove chimed in again and they finally let us go.

Baz would have skipped school to be there today. I know he would have. He told me so last weekend.

It might have helped Simon, to have Baz there. Having Baz around always helps Simon. It grounds him in a way that I can't. Even if he doesn't do much more than hold Baz's hand or lean against him, I know it helps. He's not as skittish when Baz is around. He still doesn't say much but his eyes don't look quite as haunted.

I know Baz has tried to come before, but Mum told me weeks ago that Mr. Grimm had given her clearance to spell the gates so Baz couldn't sneak out. He seems thinks _Baz_ might go off, if he's forced to watch the proceedings.

He might have today.

I wonder if Mr. Grimm just doesn't want the Coven members getting too close a look at Baz.

I know his fangs pop when he gets upset or emotional. They'd have popped today. I was about ready to bite someone by the end.

I texted Baz while we were driving home, told him that it might not be a good day to come, but I don't think there's anything I can say that will keep him from driving here to see Simon.

I just know it breaks his heart to see Simon like this.

It breaks my heart.

But I think it's harder for him, on these bad days, when he can't lift Simon's spirits at all. When he tries his hardest to be soft, to be kind, and gets no response.

I'm still getting used to the idea of Baz Pitch being soft, mind you. But I've gotten to know Baz this year. First with all the research on the Watford Tragedy last term and then that horrible Christmas Day. And after.

And every weekend since.

He's here every Friday night, without fail. There's no place for him to sleep, but he stays anyway, curled up on the floor next to the bed, or on the living room sofa with Simon in his arms.

Or on my bed with Simon. I let him start doing that about a month ago. I felt bad for him, on the hard floor (even though he spelled it soft, the posh twit), shivering under mounds of blankets. I knew he'd rather be snuggled up with Simon.

And that Simon needed him close too.

Morgana knows, it's a challenge sleeping in the same bed with Simon and those blasted dragon wings. The two of them manage somehow, better than I do. Simon's wings just curve around Baz, in a way he doesn't manage with anyone else. They fit together, the barmy gits, like two pieces of a puzzle.

It's not the first time I've slept in the bathtub, so I manage alright. I've got a spell to make it cozy. _**"Snug as a bug in a rug," **_gets it all warm and soft.

I wouldn't sleep in a bathtub for just anyone. I'd do it for Simon.

And I'd do it for Baz. I've gotten used to having him around. I think I look forward to his visits almost as much as Simon.

Well, maybe not quite as much as Simon.

Baz is a brilliant. I mean, I knew that from Watford but he's smart _and _funny, with such an incisive and wry sense of humor.

I didn't know that.

It's nice having someone who shares a keen interest in obscure linguistic conundrums. And can knowledgably debate about Magickal Politics.

And knows about the influence of Lord of the Rings on Led Zeppelin.

I never expected to actually _like_ Baz Pitch.

I've not told anyone this, but I'm concerned about Baz.

About him getting his schoolwork done when he's on his mobile with Simon every night, talking to him until Simon falls asleep.

About him being here every weekend, the hours of driving back and forth, in all sorts of weather.

About the silences and thousand-yard stares he gets from Simon when he does come.

We're all fretting about Simon but I don't know if anyone's worrying about Baz.

Other than Mr. Grimm, that is. I know that's why he won't let Baz come to the inquiry sessions. He knows he's shouldering a lot as it is.

I check the clock just as the doorbell rings. Simon's leg stutters to a stop and his tail starts lashing around instead.

I was thinking Baz was due soon. He's here earlier than I expected, which means he's spelled his way through traffic, besotted fool that he is.

"I'll get it," I shout. Not that anyone else is paying much attention. Mum and Dad are in the attic. They're always in the attic on weekends it seems, poring over the maps and data points Dad's compiled.

My siblings are probably just lying about in their rooms. Typical.

Even though I'm sure Simon knows it's Baz he doesn't answer the door. He never does. I don't know if it's because it's not his house and he's worried about being the one inviting Baz in.

Not that it's an issue—I invited Baz in the first time and he's good now, no need to ask again. Mum's adjusted the wards on the house to accommodate.

He's on the doorstep waiting for me, his satchel over his shoulder. "Bunce."

"Baz. Come in. Simon's in the den."

He steps in the door but he's hesitant this time, eyes darting around. "I know you said not to come tonight, but . . ."

It's not often Baz Pitch is at a loss for words. "But you couldn't stay away, yes I know." I bump his shoulder. "Come along, I'm sure Simon can't wait to see you."

His demeanor doesn't change. He's still hovering by the door, fingers tightly curled around the handle of his bag.

"Baz?"

I take a moment to get a good look at him. He's pale, but no more than usual, actually a little better if I'm going to be honest. Must have fed before he came.

Smart move. There's not much to be had in Hounslow other than household pets and the occasional squirrel. There's the Urban Farm in Feltham, but that's a bit chancy—there're pigs and sheep and goats and whatnot there—more like pets than livestock and someone would certainly notice if one was suddenly gone.

"You drove all the way out here to see him. Come on." I tug on his sleeve but he's still not moving.

"I heard it was rough today."

"I told you it was when I texted you. It's alright. We've managed before, we'll manage again."

"Father said it was bad."

Oh.

I suppose it makes sense, that Baz's father would give him an update, since he's there every time.

"It's alright. Dr. Wellbelove gave us a break and your dad made them stop this afternoon. I'm sure he told you?"

"He told me."

"So what are you waiting for, you git? Simon's liable to knock the room to bits with his wings if we leave him waiting too long." I step closer to Baz, put a hand on his forearm. "He knows you're coming. He's probably getting all worked up about why you've not made an appearance yet."

Baz is staring at the floor now. "Maybe I shouldn't have come."

I roll my eyes. "Why would you say that? You know you help." _More than me_, I think again.

"I'm not so sure." His knuckles are bone white, he's gripping the handle so hard. His other hand is jammed in his pocket but I can see the outline of a fist through the fabric of his coat.

Always complaining he's cold but won't ever wear a coat that actually keeps him warm.

"Baz, what's going on?"

He closes his eyes and breathes in. I can barely hear him when he speaks again. "He's not getting better, Penny. It's been months and I'm trying so hard, but I'm not reaching him." He bites his lip. "I don't know what to say to him."

"You don't have to say anything. You just need to be there. Nothing calms him like you do, Baz. He's been clinging to you for dear life since this all started. You're the only thing that brings him back, bit by bit."

He shakes his head, the great thumping git. These two are going to be the death of me, honestly. "I'm going back to the den and you're coming with me." I hook my arm around his and drag him down the hall.

Simon, as expected, is all thrashing agitation. His tail's thumping on the sofa, his face is flushed and I know he knocked over my books with his wings because they're all out of order now. His eyes widen at the sight of Baz and if anything, his tail gets even wilder.

"Look what I found on our doorstep." I don't even have to give Baz a shove to get him moving.

Once he catches sight of Simon he drops his bag to the floor and crosses the room to sit at his side, swiping Simon's curls off his forehead and pressing a kiss to his temple. "Hello, love."

I swear I never get tired of seeing this. Baz Pitch being a tender, attentive boyfriend. It's bizarre and endearing at the same time.

Simon melts into Baz's side. Literally. He's pressed against him, his head on Baz's shoulder, fingers clutching for a grip on Baz's hand, his one wing curving around Baz's back in a weird, bony embrace.

Idiots, the both of them.

I let them be, go fuss around in the kitchen, making a pretense of scrounging up some snacks.

It's hours later and we're all slumped on the sofa, the closing credits of _"Four Weddings and A Funeral" _scrolling past. I've watched so many Hugh Grant films with these two. I swear Baz has a thing for Hugh Grant. I had no idea he was so into rom-coms, but I suppose I shouldn't be surprised.

He's proving to be quite a romantic sap.

At the moment Baz is curled up with Simon, running his fingers through Simon's hair and bending down to press soft kisses to the top of his head every so often, when he thinks I'm not watching them.

I'm watching them. I've seen this movie so many times I can recite the dialogue in my head. I think there must be something in it that could work for a spell, but I just can't make myself put in the effort right now. I never had my chance to come up with one at Watford—I left before ours were due to be tested.

Now my focus is too scattered to come up with anything worthwhile, what with this stupid inquiry taking up so much of my time.

And taking care of Simon.

I dart a glance at the boys again. Simon's sitting up now, yawning and stretching.

"Call it a night then?" I say.

Simon nods. "Shower first, I think, for me."

He's taken to showering at night, since he's been with us. Morning was his usual routine at Watford, but there are far too many people in this house and not enough bathrooms. It's a problem.

Simon squeezes Baz's hand one more time before he gets up and wanders down the hall.

I shift closer to Baz, scooting over the still-warm cushions Simon had so recently occupied. "Hey."

He studies me from his corner, eyes half lidded, arms crossed over his chest.

I scoot closer and wind my arm in his again, leaning in, ignoring the way he twitches when I do. I just hold his arm more tightly. "You alright, Baz?"

"I'm fine, Bunce. It's Simon you should be worried about."

"I do worry about Simon. I feel like that's become my full-time job." I nudge his shoulder. "But right now, I'm more worried about you." My voice drops as I meet his eyes. "Who's looking after you, Baz?"

He scoffs and for a moment the old Baz is back. "Mind your business, you meddlesome wench. I'm fine."

"You most certainly are not. You're thinner, for one. You've got dark circles under your eyes which makes me think you're not sleeping well." I squeeze his arm. "You look like you did when you first came back to school after the numpty incident."

He glares at me. "We don't talk about the numpty incident."

I groan. "_Fine._ But you still look like hell and it's not like you to be so hesitant to come in the house. You would have steamrolled over me that first time, if I hadn't let you in. I practically had to beg you to cross the threshold tonight." He's not meeting my eyes now. "What's going on, Baz?"

It takes him a minute of resolutely glaring at the carpet before he sighs and slumps back into the cushions. "I just feel so useless at Watford. I can't help Simon from there and I'm not sure I help him when I'm here either." He closes his eyes. "I don't think it's easy for him to separate me out from all that happened, I'm tied into it all. If I hadn't forced him into a truce, if I hadn't made him help me find out about my mother . . ."

"You can stop right there, Baz Pitch. You never _forced_ Simon to do anything. No one ever did, except for the Mage. He never would have agreed to that truce if he didn't want to do it. You know that. Stop telling yourself any different." I haven't had a chance for a good rant in a while, so I keep going. "You think you aren't helping? Simon wouldn't get to sleep if it wasn't for your calls every night. You spend hours listening to him breathe, just to get him to settle. Hours you could be spending on so many other things. He lives for the weekends. Literally. He starts watching the clock once it gets past four in the afternoon. He knows you're always here by seven and it takes all his self-control to not flap those dratted dragon wings of his and upset the furniture. You make the difference, Baz. You, not me. I just make sure he's fed. And I don't even manage that half as well as you do."

I slump back against the cushions next to him and take his hand. Baz's fingers are cool as I slide my warm ones between his. "Trust me. You're the one thing he relies on, to get him through all of this."

I turn my head to look at him. Baz's eyes are still closed and if I didn't know better I'd swear there was a bit of moisture in the corners. I squeeze his hand. "I truly am worried about you now. You're never at a loss for words."

He opens his eyes to glare at me, looking down his nose in that way he has. "I'm not at a loss for words, Bunce. I'm choosing to ignore you."

That just makes me snort. "Rubbish."

He closes his eyes once more but his head's tilted towards me this time and he grips my hand a bit more tightly. "I'm not going to say this again, and I'll deny it if you dare tell anyone, but your concern is appreciated, Penelope."

I tilt my head towards his, until a stray strand of his hair grazes my forehead. He never slicks it back anymore. I know why. I consider saying something about it but I stop myself.

We've never had a moment like this and I don't want to spoil it. We worked together to figure out the mystery of Natasha Pitch's death and we need to work together in regard to Simon.

Baz sits up a moment later, head tilted towards the hallway. "Simon should be back in a moment." Blasted vampire senses. I'd not heard the water shut off.

I let go of his hand and we both stand up, a little awkward after our moment of companionship.

"Thank you, Bunce."

"You're welcome, Baz. Just remember that we're in this together, for Simon." I pause a minute and then add what I now know is true. "And for each other."

He's off a moment later, when Simon sheepishly peeks into the room.

I decide to take the sofa for the night. They need this time together and even if it's lumpy, it's still better than a bathtub. Even a spelled one.

It's a bit of a surprise when Baz pad in the den a few moments later. "You not going to bed yet, Bunce?"

I make a show of yawning. "Think I'll just stay here for the night. Too tired to move."

He raises that eyebrow of his.

I shrug. "I'm fine here, Baz. Get on back to Simon now."

He leaves, but he's back a moment later with a blanket. "You'll need this." He drapes it over me.

"You'll freeze in there without it."

There's that Baz smirk. "There's a whole pile on the floor and Simon's like a personal space heater. You know that."

"Not as well as you do. Now shove off and snuggle with your boyfriend and let me have a moment's peace."

I pull the blanket up to my chin and close my eyes.

The sunlight slanting in the room wakes me the next morning. There's a clatter of plates in the kitchen. I stumble down the hall to the bathroom to wash the sleep from my eyes and then I shuffle into the kitchen.

Baz is seated at the counter watching Simon fry up bacon and eggs.

He looks so content, just gazing at Simon, that unexpected smile on his face.

They both look brighter this morning.

I can't help myself. I come up behind Baz and throw my arms around his neck, resting my chin on his shoulder. I can smell the cedar and bergamot, feel the chill of his skin. He tenses for just an instant and then lets himself lean back into me.

Simon's staring at us, eyes wide, spatula in midair as he blinks in surprise.

"What're you doing, Pen?"

"Giving Baz a morning hug."

"Since when do you hug Baz?" I can hear the bacon sizzling. It's going to be burnt to a crisp if he doesn't attend to it soon.

"Since I decided I can manage one more friend." I close my eyes and pull Baz close. "I'm making an exception for you, Pitch."

He huffs at me. "I am exceptional, Bunce. It's taken you long enough to notice."

Simon snorts and I open my eyes and step away, to take the empty seat next to Baz. "Don't burn the eggs again, Simon, please."


End file.
